


The Devil You Know

by shobogan



Category: Batgirl (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shobogan/pseuds/shobogan
Summary: The Lord of Lies offers Cassandra a deal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during Batgirl V1, a few months before Cass fights Shiva in issue 25. 
> 
> Neron tempted Oracle in Underworld Unleashed: Patterns of Fear.

Oracle told her, once, about a demon in the dark who preyed on your deepest desires. It was the first time Cassandra had seen her truly _unsettled_ \- not afraid, exactly, but disturbed. 

“There are forces even you can’t touch,” she’d said. “Sometimes, all we can do is stay true to ourselves and weather the storm.”

It's not until she leaves the clock tower, leaves the first place that's felt like home in years and years, that she sees for herself. One night, after a brutal training session against Lady Shiva and a largely empty patrol, her bedroom goes dark and cold. There’s a sudden copper tang beneath her tongue, and she inhales the stink of decay.

She sits up slowly, ignoring the instinct to coil and spring, and the shadows swirl into a definite shape.

He looks like a man, with wild blonde hair and gleaming green eyes, but he isn’t. Her head tilts, and her eyes narrow - no, this is like the holograms in Oracle's training room. Except there’s something far beyond machine intelligence behind it.

**_CASSANDRA CAIN._ **

A greeting. He even bows, but his white suit doesn’t wrinkle and he doesn’t seem to get any smaller.

She stares at him for a moment more, and then - 

“Loud.”

His eyes widen, though she can’t tell if it’s true surprise. Then he laughs, low and booming like distant thunder.

“My apologies, Ms. Cain.”

He steps closer. She straightens further, kicking her sheets away in case she needs the freedom.

“You’re…Neron.”

“Yes, I suppose your mother told you.”

She can feel her own eyes going wide, now. “You know my - oh.” He means Oracle. “She’s not - ”

He waves a hand. “You mean to call her that, don’t you, when you run off to die?”

Right. Oracle said he knew everything. 

She frowns, crossing her arms. “You know - what I think. What I feel. You’re just…playing.”

Neron spreads his phantom hands wide. “Can you begrudge an old man his entertainment?”

“Yes.”

He smiles, and his teeth gleam in the dark. “Yes, I suppose you would.” He turns away from her, then, pacing around the room. Her eyes track him, piercing into every movement, but she can’t see anything specific. Just the sense of something vast and ancient and hungry.

“You have barely three months left.” His tone is almost casual, as he peruses her belongings. “How many lives do you think you can save, in that time?”

“Not enough.” Never enough. That will be true no matter how much time she has.

“Hm.” He sets down the latest stack of flash cards Oracle had given her. “What if I could absolve you without taking your life?”

“How?” The word escapes her lips before she can stop it, and he turns back to her with a smile.

“It’s a better deal, really. Laying down _your_ life won’t restore his.”

Suddenly, her heart is pounding in her chest. Suddenly she can hear the last breaths rattling from his ruined throat.

There’s blood on her hands, soaking into her night shirt. She refuses to flinch, refuses to move them.

He stalks closer. There’s a sickly green tint to his suit, now. “Imagine, Cassandra - his death erased, and your life your own.” He lifts his hands again, and new images alight at his fingertips. She’s a dancer, spinning across the stage with untempered jubilance. She’s with Barbara, finishing her first chaptered book. She’s a healer, working in Leslie’s clinic. 

She’s Batgirl, but desperate guilt doesn't weigh down every movement, shadow every smile.

His other hand holds the new fate of the man she killed. He’s in a prison cell, or a quiet cottage; he’s fighting desperately with bloody knuckles, or embracing his family with joyful tenderness. All that matters is that he’s alive.

Her vision blurs with tears, and her chest twists and aches, and she can’t stop watching.

“What…”

“What do I want?” His hands fall. The futures fades, and she feels bleak and hollow. “You will live your life, without any interference. After that, you soul is mine.”

“Figured.” Her voice is still hoarse. It’s not a refusal. 

What’s the difference, between a life and a soul? She was ready to be perfect for a year. If she could keep fighting for decades…

She blinks hard, trying to steady herself. Oracle would tell her to think. To analyse. To strategise.

“What - would you do with it?” 

He shrugs. “Whatever I’d need to, I suppose.”

Her brow furrows. What _does_ he need? 

Power. Power to rule, to debase, to corrupt. She can see all of _that_ well enough. 

“I would…be a weapon.” She shakes her head before he can answer her, letting her bloody hands fall to her mattress as she straightens again.

“No.” Her voice is strong again, even as the tears spill over her cheeks. “Three months…is fine.”  

He stares at her for a few moments, before sighing and shaking his head. “Like mother like daughter, I suppose.”

This time, she doesn’t refute him; this time she nods, fiercely proud.

Then he’s gone, and she’s alone. She collapses back against the headboard, raising clean hands in front of her face.

Three months. She’ll have to make them count.  But first, in the morning, she'll visit Barbara.


End file.
